


Between Two Lungs

by Attaining



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, game of thrones
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Multi, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Theon abuse, Torture, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-11-09 01:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17992664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attaining/pseuds/Attaining
Summary: Just a place to stick little homeless rarepairs, drabbles or pieces of things that didn't go anywhere.Ch 1: Jaime/Theon - Modern Westeros AU. Brienne sets Jaime up on a blind date with genderqueer Theon.Ch 2: Ramsay/Theon - More of Ramsay's torture and molding of Theon, warning for all the bad things - non con, tortureCh 3: Jaime/Theon - Theon is the Grand Marshall at King's Landing Pride. Jaime doesn't know what that is. Fluffy Pride Modern Westeros AU (same as ch1).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, just homing little ficlets of rarepairs or scenes from fics that didn't make it. :) Just looking to explore different things.

"I think there's been some kind of mistake," Jaime said, still standing and looking down on the effeminate man smiling up at him. "...my lord."

His smile dropped and he flipped his black hair over his shoulder. It shined brightly in the sun. "Brienne thought you would be open to..."

"Brienne and I are... something of an oddity,  and we're separating for precisely this reason," Jaime said with a huff, gesturing with his unmoving hand. "She always thinks she knows better than me."

"Your reputation suggests she does," he quipped, throwing his napkin on the table, ready to stand. "She told me King's Landing was open to trans people, but it's all the same."

A pang of something like guilt bothered his shriveled heart and he held out his hand. "Wait. I'm sorry, that was not... honorable of me."

Greyjoy remained seated, mouth in a straight line, faintly pinker with gloss. His nails were buffed to a shine. He wore a black leather skirt and an off the shoulder shirt that hinted at his smooth skin, small breasts and the apple at his throat. Jaime could not deny he was breathtakingly beautiful, not quite a man nor a woman.

He gestured to the chair and Theon cast him a wary nod of approval. "Is it because of what happened..."

Theon scoffed. Everyone knew about the Greyjoy boy. Taken prisoner during the Civil War, thought to be dead, but in reality had been held and tortured by a depraved madman, the very son of Roose Bolton. The Bolton boy was a bastard and a serial killer. Greyjoy's charges were pardoned by the King. _Like my own._

"No more than your missing hand makes you a little person. I started wearing my mother's heels when I was three. I don't think of myself at either end of the binary. I wanted to, I tried so hard to be a good boy like everyone wanted. I fucked my way through every woman in Winterfell and seized it during the war just show everyone what a man I was. But I'm too pretty for it, really. Why hide it now when the whole world knows my testosterone factory was demolished by a psychopath? Except I didn’t exactly have ‘the surgery.’ Is that what you wanted to know about the boygirl in front of you?”

Jaime raised his brows, taken aback by his snappish reply. So he wasn’t so meek after all. He sat down. “A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.”

Greyjoy smirked slightly. “Why does everyone wonder so much about what’s in my pants?”

“Thanks to the news, there’s little wonder,” Jaime retorted, lifting his prosthetic hand and giving it a wave at Theon. “Everyone wants to know, do you still feel it? Did it hurt when they cut off your hand? Can you still hold an assault rifle? Is it odd to jack off with your left?”

Theon laughed, looking at him coyly. “You’re less arrogant than I thought.”

“Didn’t you suggest beheading me during the war?” Jaime asked, leaning back.

Theon shrugged. “That was a long time ago.”

“Well, the mighty have fallen. Only my brother and your sister survive of our families. We’re crippled war veterans. And everyone still wants to fuck us.”

“Cheers,” Theon replied, raising his drink. Jaime paused and laughed. He laughed rarely, after Cersei… After what she had forced them to do. _My sweet, hateful sister._

A waiter passed and Jaime caught him, saying, “I’ll take what he’s having.”

“They’re.”

“What?”

“What they’re having.”

“As you say, my liege.”

Theon smiled, the first real one Jaime had seen and he could not find it unseemly. _Damn you, Brienne. Am I so sullen you must pass me off to them?_

_“You spent your whole life bound to your sister, and I am not her. Go, live, do whatever it is grown single men do, and if you have seen the world and want me still, I will be here.”_

“Do you think we’re ruined, Greyjoy? You and your psychopath, your betrayals. And me with my own,” Jaime mused, his drink lasting but a minute before he slammed the empty glass down. He did not want to think she was right when she called him bitter, petty.

Theon leaned in over the table, their black hair spilling in silk strands over their shoulder, and ran long, scarred fingers over his right hand. Their blue eyes danced, something fierce in them he had not noticed before, a truth there. They said, “Not at all.”


	2. Ramsay/Theon - Tests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Ramsay torturing Theon scene that didn't make it into anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I question myself writing stuff like this. It's a scene that didn't make it into other fics, where Theon is still learning his place with Ramsay. Clearing out my Google Drive.
> 
> All the warnings. Rape, torture, Ramsay Bolton.

The tests were getting harder. The basta--no, no, not that, never that word-- _ he _ wanted his creature to learn. Reek blinked his eyes hard willing the yellow and black spots from his sight.  _ Creature, I’m the creature. He’s made me that way. I’m a lord, a son of Pyke. The son of... The son of… _

“Reek,” the voice stretched the name, chastising like one would a child. His head jerked up, eyes flicking to Lord Ramsay and down to the floor. 

Reek was not a lord’s name and it was a foolish thing to imagine anyone bowing to a shrinking wretch of bones and skin like him. Pet, not a prince.  _ He _ is the Lord, the Seven, the Drowned, the old… There is a razor in his hand. This was a test and those were getting hard. Reek swallowed. “Sorry, my lord.” 

He steadied himself on the crutch permitted him for his task. The clack of the brush against the bowl caused him to flinch, the sound of it reverberating in his ears. His shoulders shook as he wetted his lord’s face with lather.  _ I could paint him pink. Lather and blood. I could, I could, I could.  _

But he would not. Whips and racks, flensing knives and hot coals, boots and hammers, pincers and presses... 

The halting noise of the blade as it swept over Lord Ramsay’s face sent shivers down his spine.  _ Don’t shake, you must not shake. If you make him bleed… _ But Reek was not lucky and his tremors rested less than Reek did. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Reek.”

The crutch fell to the ground just as he did. He pleaded at the side of his lordship’s chair, eyes at the floor. He trembled like a beaten dog. “I’m sorry, my lord, forgive me, my lord. I… I didn’t mean it. My hands…”

“Your hands, what, Lord Theon?” The voice was cold, but a smile hid behind it. A hunter’s smile. 

He snapped his head upward. Theon. His name was Theon. He was ironborn. He wasn’t from the North. He didn’t owe the North anything. They captured him! He was from the sea. A bloom of fury grew in his chest: he was ironborn. “You skinned them, you baseborn cunt, that’s what.” 

“I win.” Lord Ramsay towered above him then, teeth white and sharp, and suddenly Reek remembered his name. It rhymes with meek.  _I reek of shame._

Like the men in the woods pulling down his breeches, like Myranda grinding her hips over his half-hard prick...  _ The bow and the bed, lost forever. He’s made a whore of me. _ The next he knew, his face scratched along the wood of the table, his hands bound in chains at his back. Lord Ramsay had stripped him of his clothes with a knife, along with some of his skin.  _ Is that my screaming? _ Reek’s scabbed loins broke open, his behind torn wide around a real man’s cock. Lord Ramsay’s nails raked across his scalp and tore out his brittle hair. His lordship grunted out between his rutting, “Now there’s a good little bitch.”

_I've finally been good..._ he thought from somewhere else, looking down on a broken thing bent over a table.   


When Ramsay came, he collapsed on top of Reek, smothering him with his weight. He had never felt so small. A shrinking worm crawled out of his body and took the last bit of ironborn with it. A highborn lord, an ironborn reaver, neither would allow themselves to be reduced to this. They would rather die.  _ I brought this on myself. Did I ask for this? Did I want it?  _

“Now, who am I?” Ramsay asked as he straightened and tucked himself back into his black breeches. 

“Master,” Reek croaked, voice hollow. “My Master.”

_ Do I deserve this?  _ Reek wondered. 


	3. Theon/Jaime: Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon is the Grand Marshall at King's Landing Pride. Jaime doesn't know what that is. Fluffy Pride Modern Westeros AU (same as ch1).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pride! Quick drop before I take off for Dyke March in San Francisco. :3 Same verse as Ch 1.

The crowd was utterly oppressive, smothering him left and right with streamers, feathers and glowing this and thats. Rainbow as far as the eye could see. He had seen more colorful flags than he could count, and he didn't know what any of them stood for. Jaime shoved through a gate, Bronn hot on his trail, eyeing women who could never have an interest in him. 

“Sorry, Ser, you’re not allowed back here without a badge. Parade’s about to start,” an apologetic volunteer said. Jaime craned his neck and saw Greyjoy step delicately onto the front of the lead float, fine Myrish silks in every color flowing around their hips. 

“Yes, but about that, you see...” Jaime started, giving Bronn a look. “I’m late. It’s important a knight is never late.”

With that, he danced around the hapless man and sprinted to the float, a laughing Bronn trailing after him. “Now what’s all this for, then? Fuck gender, fuckboi... can’t keep up with the kids meself.”

“Fuckboi?” Jaime asked, brows knit together, his words clipped as they hauled themselves onto the parked contraption. “What is a fuckboi?”

“You are, love, that’s why Brienne sent you to me,” Theon said dismissively, waving to the crowd as they offered a hand to Jaime. 

He bristled and Bronn laughed. 

“You, unless you’re looking to be someone’s daddy, get the fuck off my float,” Theon said pointedly to Bronn, shaking the tassels on their chest at passers by. They were in their element, Jaime noted, preening and showing off for the crowd. Jaime shrugged at Bronn, who rolled his eyes and disappeared back into the seas of families and colors. “It’s called genderfuck, what I do.”

Jaime did not know how that explained anything, but his time with Greyjoy was often that way. Parties with people of the likes he had never seen, drugs he painstakingly kept Theon clear of. He stood awkwardly, hoping to leave before this thing started moving. Sequined palm trees, giant flamingos and pineapples filled the float. Some sort of tropical summer theme, like a vacation in Dorne. 

“Nice... wig,” Jaime settled, eyes running up the curve of Theon’s ass, the toned muscles littered with scars. The wig was fine, he supposed, fire red and an overpuffed bob. Theon’s lips glittered in the sunlight, red as fresh apples. 

Greyjoy snorted. “You came to see my wig shake, did you?”

“I’m a gentleman, if nothing else.” 

“That straight woman’s bedazzled chihuahua looks more comfortable than you,” Theon noted, putting in their earrings and checking their make up in a compact. A volunteer brought Theon a bottle of wine and another of water, and they took it with a wink. 

“I have a reputation,” Jaime said lowly. “I’m a Lannister. I shouldn’t be seen—“

“What? With the Grand Marshall of the King’s Landing Pride Parade?” Theon asked mockingly. “You should be licking my platform boots, I’m the fucking Queen today.”

He clenched his jaw. Why had he even allowed himself to be talked into coming? Come support me, they had asked, breathless after they rode Jaime hard. He had nodded, head in a daze that he had... that he had really. With another—well, not another, Theon was—

“What would Brienne think, if she saw you at my side? She’ll be with Sansa watching the parade,” Theon said knowingly. 

“Curse you, you little wretch,” Jaime spat but did not leave, instead sheltering behind the palms.

“You’re too easy, Ser,” Greyjoy laughed. 

The parade kicked into high gear and so did Theon. Jaime watched in silent awe as Greyjoy enthralled them with a stirring speech, honoring those lost to violence and the war, those who could not be there with them. But they turned irreverent once again, working the float like their personal stage, singing along to some song Jaime was surely too old to recognize. And the way Theon danced... their legs long, peeking out from between silk. 

 _I could walk for miles along those legs_ , Jaime thought idly. They cheered by the hundreds for Theon, screamed their love and Jaime saw how it was Theon could be royalty. As the song finished, he slipped out from behind inflated palms and encircled an arm around Theon’s waist, slick with sweat in the summer sun. He had gone utterly mad. 

Sea green eyes widened in surprise as Jaime tossed his sunglasses aside and kissed their cheek. He removed his glove from his prosthetic hand and waved it high. The gold would surely give him away— and when the audience realized it was him, assumptions were made and whooping cheers rose between the buildings. 

When have I ever cared about gossip? 

“Jaime Lannister, everyone,” Theon said with a grin, their voice reverberating through the crowd. Jaime could hear the fondness in their tone. “Sorry bears, I’ve found a lion for the evening!” 

Jaime laughed, a strange and foreign feeling. He did it more often, around Greyjoy. When they were shitfaced and fucking drunk and trying not to remember. He was caught up in the force of nature that was Theon Greyjoy on a stage. When his eyes finally fell on Brienne, he had almost forgotten why this had started. She smiled at him, warm, and he smiled back. 

Mayhaps she had been on to something, after all, in forcing his hand to see the world outside of the estate, outside of his sister’s bedroom. Not that he had to admit it, not just yet. 

His eyes on fell on Theon, smile wide and catching the outstretched hands of boys just old enough to start worrying about any of this. Under body paint, Jaime saw the knife and the rifle. The war had not been kind to Theon Greyjoy. The world had never been kind to Theon, the child stolen from Pyke. But there they were, blowing a kiss at two teenage girls with hearts in their eyes, as though there was nothing else Theon would rather do. 

“Theon,” he called, uncertain where the name came from, of why his traitorous mouth opened at all. But then their smile warmed him and it mattered less. “Happy Pride.”

They paused, caught off guard, before smiling again. “Happy Pride, Jaime.”


End file.
